


Let Me Drown in the High

by Sukila



Series: Hello Charlotte Week (Sept. 22 - 28) [6]
Category: Hello Charlotte (Video Game), Hello Charlotte (Video Games)
Genre: #hellocharlotteweek, A lot of drugs, Agoraphobia, Alien Biology, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brother-Sister Relationships, Clones, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Flashbacks, HC3 Spoilers, Hello Charlotte Week - Day 6, Like, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mindfuck, References to Depression, Sleep Deprivation, Trans Female Charlotte, Trans Male Felix, Vomiting, also a murderous ending, but its soap so????, lying, screaming again, the timeline is kinda confusing sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 06:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16112870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sukila/pseuds/Sukila
Summary: Felix was not like Huxley, if that was the evidence given, nor was he exactly like the workers and their great multitude of depressive naps after the soap wore off. He was furious when it all snapped into place, at his uncle, at himself, at everyone- because he was supposed to be the smart one, wasn’t he? Would he call that a purpose…?So he watched Charlotte's dreams as though he was a part of them, colours folding like an arora and haunting the skies, stalking the citizens below like predators. Navigation was difficult, and often held no sense to which actions made the right path appear, but so long as he could avoid the bugs he had all the time in the world. So much love to give, yet ever hunted by unknown, just like most humans; he wondered if that was the outside to her, not an opportunity, but something to fear being snuffed out by.The fear grew on him in a cruel understanding over the years.





	Let Me Drown in the High

He’d started young, like they all had. It felt like a usual habit for their band of misfits, drinking away the waking hours and pretending he didn’t need sleep as he watched the weaving of Charlotte’s dreams in a stupor.

 

Their meeting with the Oracle...had been all the more reason to continue blocking out the world with meaningless colour and running around like a hooligan with Bennett. He was a young worker, the earliest to come, the first to approach his grouchy persona and break the mold with another dumb question.

 

Bennett slept, and that was the first clue to him that something was wrong, watching his face tuck into his arm while the watched some meaningless chatter-filled program. Dr. Huxley had been insist to him when he’d first inquired, two hours of rest should do fine, whether waking or comatose; that was the reason this vegging had even begun.

 

But the workers took a long time to wake, eyes ringed with the same dark circles as his own, much more awake than he after a power nap. He begun to wonder if his uncle had lied to him, perhaps as a sort of encouragement to work harder at his goals, or simply giving him his existimate of rest time.

 

But then he fell, vision blackening as his head catapulted to the floor, and a conclusion was reached. Alongside blurry visions of notes being read aloud between waking moments, he gained a new perspective in such a concussed state.

 

Felix was _not_ like Huxley, if that was the evidence given, nor was he exactly like the workers and their great multitude of depressive naps after the soap wore off. He was furious when it all snapped into place, at his uncle, at himself, at everyone- because he was supposed to be the smart one, wasn’t he? Would he call that a purpose…?

 

He shared his uncle’s thirst for knowledge and liking to science, but he _wanted_ to do those things, didn’t he? He _wanted_ to stay up and read, even when the lights blurred together, he _wanted_ to take as little soap as possible so as not to feel like an idiot, right? But...why did he feel so strongly about those things? In the long run he could so obviously see, it wasn’t such a detriment, and he honestly didn’t mind turning off his brain once and awhile.

 

But there was such a nagging feeling of impending doom. One that screamed at him to keep moving, and itched during unrestful hours of the night cycle. And the lines between wanting and needing seemed to blur even more during those moments, leaving him with questions he was, admittedly, too afraid to ask. Because that was a _thing_ too, the idea of bothering Dr. Huxley with questions created an unease that made his hands shake and his stomach lurch; like a fight or flight response, and this shyness applied to no one else.

 

He was a struggling growth watching flies buzz above his head, working the time away like an ant for its queen, waiting to die and be carried to the pile. He fed his own parasite, gripping each sleeve in insistency, to the point where even the clingiest person he knew couldn’t even begin to compare.

 

He watched her dreams as though he was a part of them, colours folding like an arora and haunting the skies, stalking the citizens below like predators. Navigation was difficult, and often held no sense to which actions made the right path appear, but so long as he could avoid the bugs he had all the time in the world. So much love to give, yet ever hunted by unknown, just like most humans; he wondered if that was the outside to her, not an opportunity, but something to fear being snuffed out by.

 

The fear grew on him in a cruel understanding over the years.

 

-

 

The consistency was enough to make him gag, thick and filling like a sort of gag-inducing pulp, forever releasing that harsh scent of floral arrangements or citrus. Bennett often laughed when he took it, mocking the spiddle dribbling down his face before his pupils blew up and he didn’t register the embarrassment flooding his cheeks anymore. They fought like wolf pups, wrestling in the light of the television sets over annoying games or quarreled subjects.

 

It was familiar, and though he’d be hard-pressed to admit, they were probably his fondest memories. When all he had to know was whatever was before him, sometimes even less, and stopped feeling so much, so deeply, all at once like he always seemed to. Photos pooled up like evidence, tucked away with the rest of the past, and though he didn’t look, it was nice to know they were there.

 

‘Nice,’ became a word associated with their time together; he didn’t know when it had become the high point. Maybe when it began to hurt to breathe, and, for awhile, the pain was lessened by the approach of ignorance. Or when they fell asleep, tangled together and drooling through the rest of the high, a day spent unproductively, though, the fact wouldn’t bother him until awakening.

 

He felt like, somewhere along the line, he’d grown more somber, somewhere he’d lost the barest amount of childlike innocence all at once, alongside any eagerness past fulfilment of his Uncle’s wishes. Because, he supposed, in that way, he was still very much a kid looking to someone for approval, putting aside anything else unpleasant.

 

Did he even want anything else, he mused, this was just...over-exaggeration, right?

 

He was close to knocking his head against the wall just to get the thoughts to stop for awhile, settling on chugging the drink in hand with vigour. A stupour-coated mind wanted to find a friend, his legs listened, to an extent, wandering the length of the lab in addled confusion at the emptiness until he realised it was two in the morning.

 

He settled on returning to the bathroom, but found himself in the only lit room, hopes dashed when he came upon surgical equipment instead. Nothing was out of the ordinary besides the brightness, a few scattered papers...a calendar?

 

A date was circled numerous times, lined by chicken-scratch handwriting with his name in the center, or, at least he though it was his name; he didn’t know a Felicia, after all. Still, out of curiosity, he stowed it away in his pocket, eyeing an pocketbook with the same morbid eagerness.

 

Finally satisfied with his pseudo-adventure, he managed the way back to the bathroom, dropping onto the nearest soft surface and taking his two hours with gusto before the feeling began to wane too much.

 

-

 

Huxley made a lot of promises, it seemed.

 

To Bennett.

 

_“...it’s only temporary, he told me so himself.”_

 

And the other workers.

 

_“There was nothing else he could’ve done sooner.”_

 

And Charlotte.

 

_“I just...wasn’t growing properly; he had to.”_

 

And himself most of all.

 

_“No cause for concern.”_

 

But when he woke up in a heap of towels feeling as though he’d been hit by a truck of bricks, hands firmly clasped over his sides, bulging with unknown items…

 

“Huh, I must have found it last… What?”

 

Whether it be a calendar of expiration days, dating back months and months and _months_ with the same two names and so many strings of numbers.

 

“It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true…!”

 

Or a false book he’d open in avid desperation, wanting answers, _needing_ answers and coming to not one conclusion with what was inside.

 

“It’snottrueIt’snottrueIt’snottrue-”

 

It was false. A key clattered to the floor, making an echo that filled his entire headspace; it was metal, but coated in bursts of white, swallowed by whatever had stained its surface.

 

What...did he do now?

 

Empty of logic, he held it tight, until it dug into his hands hard enough to scratch and make them bleed-

 

And _screamed._

 

-

 

Charlotte was the one to show, prying the key from bloody fingers and pulling him into her embrace, fighting his struggles with her own stubbornness. Bile ejected from his throat, a haze forming over his thoughts as he shivered and shook in her grasp. Eventually, he pushed her off, chugging another overly scented bottle with ease after snatching off the edge of the sink. She grabbed him again though, and he let her rock him to calmness, the key tucked away in his pocket, papers ripped apart and set adrift as the bathtub filled.

 

His eyes stayed wide as his mind wandered, breathing still harsh and shallow as he clutched his throat. It was like a fairytale, wasn’t it? The thing they told the children who were curious, that the outside held monsters and terror that would be there to tear them apart the moment they were away. So they held their minds with sweet words, brushing off worries in an effort to just keep them there.

 

He was such a child, wasn’t he? But not the kind destined to forge their own destiny in the wilds, but the one to submit to isolation as well, and grow up empty; grow up like the same girl who held him steady now. The same girl he’d wanted to save from the moment they met.

 

Maybe he was the one who needed saving; or, maybe a Felix before him deserved it more; or, maybe a Felicia of the future who actually accepted her new self-

 

_“Felix, then!”_

 

 _No… He wanted it to be more different-_ He _wanted to be more different; even if he didn’t know why._

 

_“Fine…”  In the end, though, he agreed, but felt a weight in his chest for awhile after, and dealt with constant deja vu._

 

It reminded him of a long time ago…

 

_“Aiden says I look nice, but… I’m not really meant for dresses, am I?”_

 

_“Well, you like it, don’t you?”_

 

_“Yeah…”_

 

_Felicia gave her a strained smile, “Then wear whatever you want.”_

 

 _Charli- Charl_ otte _beamed, “Thanks! ...brother.”_

 

 _And_ he _managed to find some happiness for the both of them._

 

Huh, maybe, being like her wouldn’t be such a detrimental destiny. He turned his gaze back, and finally noticed the tears they were both shedding, clogging visions just like the drain, still rusted from dumping chemicals. In a fit of energy, he stood up in a sudden motion, brushing off the vertigo and holding tightly to his sister’s hand.

 

Down the hall, past a corridor, the wound about the twisting halls, seeming so much longer now that he was addled again. The lab, _his_ new lab, with exactly what he needed. Charlotte stood back, smiling lucidly in his company, and easily accepting the concoction he cooked for her. She was no alien, despite being an omnivore, but this would do about what soap did.

 

Because while it may lower mental ability...he hadn’t seen a hint of those memories in years. And while he drew out a plan with not-quite-straight lines, she coloured in little objects on the sheet as though it were an art project.

 

“Be up by midnight, okay?”

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea…? Huxley is…”

 

“...would you rather not-?”

 

“No!” She startled, waving her hands about frantically, “I’ll help!”

 

Her bangs fell over her face as she looked down, turning somber, “I don’t know what he did to you, but...he’s done things to everyone, even if he saved them, “ she brightened a bit, sending him a sad smile, “I trust you.”

 

He tried not to be shocked, willing the blush to vanish from his cheeks and turning away with a pout, “...Thank you.”

 

Tomorrow, they struck.

 

“Hey, do you see butterflies, too?”

 

But today...he was fine with just drowning in the high.


End file.
